


Not Within This Restless Heart

by TottWriter



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "why not both" is basically my answer to all shipping dilemmas, Chapter of Unreasonable Angst, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Soulmates, angst and sarcasm, demisexual/romantic Tsukishima, just that one chapter though, the death of my intentions to finish existing fics before starting another
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TottWriter/pseuds/TottWriter
Summary: Tsukishima Kei had come to the conclusion that he did not want a soulmate. Fate, naturally, decided that this was just too bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was one of those ideas which just sorta popped into my head and wouldn't leave, tbh. Soulmate AUs always both interest and slightly bother me, so I couldn't resist toying around with the idea a little.
> 
> Incidentally, because I hate titles and it was thematically pretty appropriate, the title of this fic is a line from [this song](https://youtu.be/CzEEXzNz04s). It's rather catchy.

Kei had always been vaguely aware of the way his mother wrote notes on her arm for his father to read, but he never especially thought about _why_ until about halfway through elementary school. Before that, it was just something that happened. Mundane and ordinary, and nothing particularly to do with him. He’d probably asked about it when he was younger, but whatever answer he’d been given hadn’t stuck in his mind more than a vague sense of it being _because_ they were his parents. That was just how the whole parent thing worked, right?  
  
The turning point came on the day a new student joined the class—a girl whose family had recently moved to the area. Ordinarily it wouldn’t have bothered him. She wasn’t the first new classmate; she probably wouldn’t be the last. But it so happened that they were painting that afternoon, and partway through the lesson a great commotion started up. One of the boys had spilt his paint water all over his arm, and an identical stain had bloomed on the new girl as well. It was impossible to work after that. Everyone started talking about _soulmates_ , with half the girls gushing about how they couldn’t wait to find theirs, and most of the boys torn between very apparent envy and the pack mentality which drove them to mock anything they weren’t included in. The soulmate pair were escorted from the classroom by the teacher in the end, in the vain hope that this would settle things down and allow everyone else to _work_.  
  
After that, soulmates seemed to be all anyone wanted to talk about. For _weeks_. Constant discussion of how sweet it was. About how sweet the sort-of couple were—when they weren’t hiding from all the attention somewhere. (Kei actually found himself feeling sorry for them.) About what kind of soulmate everyone else hoped they had. About how long they might have to wait before meeting that one special person.  
  
Kei kept his head down and stayed out of it. All the discussions seemed to feature a boy and a girl, paired up nice and neat into a future set of parents. Which…well, it certainly fitted the pattern he’d halfway made in his head. But while it had always been fine to think of his mother and father as a couple, when it came to thinking of _himself_ in that position he got an odd, uneasy feeling in his gut. What if he didn’t want to have a soulmate like that? Was some random girl going to show up one day and lay claim to him forever? Didn’t he get a choice?  
  
He’d never been very good at expressing his emotions, so he buried the nagging doubt. It was fine. So long as nothing ever showed up on his arms—or anywhere else, for that matter—he didn’t have to think about it. At the very least, he decided to do his part by ensuring he kept his skin as mark-free as possible. And as his teacher had explained in the wake of the new girl fiasco, soulmates could be quite a chancy business. No one was actually _guaranteed_ to meet theirs. You could go your whole life without having the encounter which led to someone else gaining the ability to write or draw on your skin whenever they felt like it. The way his teacher worded it made it sound like she hadn’t met hers, and didn’t want the class to get their hopes up in case they were the same. Kei couldn’t help but hope he _was_.  
  
He got used to avoiding anything which might stain his skin though, just in case. At the very least, he wouldn’t expose himself to some stranger by accident.  
  
The thing was, people were hard work. And actually making friends was even harder. So it surprised him a little when Yamaguchi managed to insert himself into Kei’s life, and stuck there more or less permanently. He’d just about resigned himself to keeping his head down and riding out school on his own, and then suddenly he had a tag-along.  
  
Still, it was impossible to actually _dis_ like Yamaguchi. He was…well, he just _was_. A bit of a limpet perhaps, but not as annoying as the girls he had started to notice watching him, and it was actually quite nice to have someone to talk to. Because, honestly, Kei really wasn’t as antisocial as most people seemed to think. It was just that he couldn’t be bothered with the sorts of conversations which seemed to be taking over. Whispered discussions about which girls the boys thought were cure, or which boys the girls thought were handsome, and how they hoped they’d meet their soulmates soon.  
  
Throughout their time at elementary school, soulmates were one of only two subjects he and Yamaguchi never, _ever_ spoke about. 

 

* * *

 

While the first day at Junior High came and went leaving Kei’s skin unblemished, the same could not be said for everyone else. Several of his new classmates either found their soulmate that first day, or walked in the following morning crowing about how they’d written a message on their arm after school, and learnt that they’d run into their perfect partner that day. More boys and girls who subsequently walked around hand in hand during breaks. It all looked deeply impractical and awkward.  
  
Somewhere in the second week, though, a whisper went around about a girl whose skin showed the exact same doodles as _another girl_. Not only that, but an upperclassman to boot. Half the class seemed scandalised, and the other half fascinated. Two girls could be soulmates? It didn’t have to always be one boy and one girl?  
  
Kei refused to let his interest show. He wasn’t stupid, after all, and he’d always made a point of avoiding soulmate discussions. If he joined in now, then it would look like…like. Well, it would look like he was only interested because he wanted his soulmate to be a _boy_ , and while that certainly didn’t sound as bad as having a girl for a soulmate, really, the only worthwhile boy he knew was Yamaguchi. And it was obvious that he wasn't Kei’s soulmate, because one time not long after they’d met, Yamaguchi’s pen had sort of exploded in his hand, and the resulting mess of blue ink had only stained one of them. It was a pity, really. Having Yamaguchi for a soulmate wouldn’t have been so bad.  
  
Wow, okay. Time to file _that_ thought away alongside the other things he Would Never Mention, Ever. He was definitely glad it had happened while in a lesson and not, say, while he might actually have to look Yamaguchi in the eye. Still. He’d never heard of two girls being soulmates before. Shouldn’t someone have mentioned it?  
  
The obvious solution was to conduct some quiet research into the matter in the privacy of his own room. If this was something other people knew about, there was absolutely no way he could remain ignorant on the subject.  
  
He kept his head down throughout dinner that evening, then retired to his room and quietly locked the door before firing up his laptop. Working out how to phrase what he was looking for took a few minutes, but the result was a long and _very_ enlightening evening. Kei sat back in his chair at the end of it, glad that no one could see the colour of his face. Right. So…he was gay, then.  
  
_Well, that definitely explains a lot,_ he thought, carefully and methodically wiping his internet history and cache clean. He closed down his laptop and got ready for bed, glad that he’d waited until after eating before conducting his search. Interacting any more with his family that evening would have been beyond awkward.  
  
Predictably enough, he lay there with his eyes wide and alert, staring at the ceiling for at least half the night. In the space of a few hours he had managed to fundamentally change how he viewed both himself and his potential future. It was a pretty big deal. And he was reasonably sure it was going to keep him awake for more than just _that_ night as he tried to work through what it was all going to mean.  
  
But, sleep-deprived or otherwise, life wasn’t about to stop and let him process it all in peace, so Kei found himself muddling along throughout the rest of the school year. The fuss and gossip about the two girls gradually subsided, replaced by a succession of other minor dramas.  
  
Because thing was, knowing that he was gay might have explained a lot, but it didn’t really _change_ anything at all. He wasn’t about to announce the fact, especially given that everyone—both at school and online—appeared divided on whether or not same-sex soulmates were normal, or some sort of aberration. And seeing as his only (and _definitely_ well-buried) crush had been on Yamaguchi himself, discussing the matter with his best friend was out of the question as well. As for family… what would his parents say? They didn’t really talk much about being soulmates, or what they thought about the wider issues surrounding them. They just sort of…got on with life. And if Akiteru had met his by now—  
  
He scowled. Even if his brother _had_ , that didn’t matter. He certainly wasn’t going to talk about any of this with _him_.  
  
_It doesn’t change anything at all_ , he told himself in the end. _Even if my soulmate is probably a man, that doesn’t mean I’ll ever meet him. And I don’t have to tell anyone about it unless I actually do, so there’s no sense in wasting energy worrying about what I might never have to say._  
  
All in all, he reasoned life would probably be a lot easier if he never found his soulmate—assuming he even had one. There was plenty of speculation that people who “never met” theirs simply didn’t possess one in the first place. His elementary school teacher hadn’t really seemed _that_ bothered by it, and her hair had gone snowy white with age. Perhaps he’d get lucky.

 

* * *

 

Karasuno was equal parts a blessing and a curse. On the one hand there was the relief that, once again, he had emerged unscathed from his first day at a new school: his skin was pristine despite the not-at-all-subtle way most of his new classmates 'accidentally' drew on the backs of their own hands. Thanks to being in an advanced class, he didn’t even have to worry too much about the bother from the usual handful who found their soulmates that way—schoolwork was far more important at this stage. No one who wanted to get into a good university had time to mess about at school, especially when they apparently had the rest of their lives to do the whole soulmate thing.  
  
But then there was volleyball.  
  
Actually, no. The problem wasn’t even _volleyball_ , although he was pretty sure even Yamaguchi thought it was. The problem was that he found himself stuck on a team with two simpletons who couldn’t even manage to keep their badly-disguised UST out of the _gym_ , let alone off the court. And the worst part of all was that _no one else seemed to notice_. Or, if they had, they were doing an absolutely sterling job with their poker faces. Far better than they managed with anything else.  
  
There was plenty of banter about their supposed rivalry; about the fact they were so stupid they had to communicate in onomatopoeia; that Hinata had a gift for receiving balls with his face; that Kageyama had all the charm and wit of a frog in the sun. But never the fact that they were both so obviously soulmates that it was actually nausea-inducing to watch.  
  
He could have joked about it with Yamaguchi, of course, but their unspoken agreement never to discuss that particular topic with one another had thus far carried on without interruption. Bringing up the subject would just have looked odd. Suspicious. It was safer—and easier—to say nothing. Starting that conversation would just have led to questions he was quite happy not answering. Even if it did chafe that he couldn't complain about it to anyone.  
  
And it was just about tolerable, really, right up until the day of their practice matches against Nekoma.  
  
…Which they lost, of course. Although that part wasn’t surprising in the slightest. In all honesty, it was just another day of their Golden Week training camp. The final day, in fact, which meant he got to go home and sleep in his own bed at the end of it. And was able to enjoy that anticipation right up until the moment he reached his bedroom and took off his jacket.  
  
There was writing on his arm. There was _writing on his arm._ Even worse, there was a _lot_ of it, and…it looked like half a conversation? There were even gaps where it looked like someone else ought to have written something in reply, at least.  
  
_~Heading back now. Kenma’s already asleep and we only just got on the Shinkansen~_  
  
_~Yeah, not bad. We won, of course. But Karasuno were a pretty fun team to play. They’ve got some crazy first years, for sure.~_  
  
He turned his arm, staring in horror to see that it continued on the underside of his forearm, too.  
  
_~Okay, so their setter is amazing. It’s actually a little creepy. And they’ve got this really short kid, and those two are either soulmates or they’ve known each other as long as I’ve known Kenma. Oh! And Kenma actually talked to shorty. I was so proud.~_  
  
_~Haha, yeah yeah. Oh, right, and there was this really tall guy too. Like, I’m pretty sure he’s a first year but he’s even taller than me? Hold on~_  
  
It stopped there, but that was probably only because the writer—his _soulmate_ —had run out of usable arm to write on. Kei stared at the scrawl, sinking down onto his bed. No. His soulmate was someone from Nekoma?  
  
It was the only explanation which made any kind of sense. All that writing was about _his_ team. But…why did it look like his soulmate was writing to someone else?  
  
He stared down at his arm, not sure what to do. The normal reaction would be to write back and introduce yourself. Perhaps cheerfully, perhaps a little wary; either way, it was expected that you said _something_. But…well, first of all, this asshole had just casually mentioned beating his team as though it were a given. Which was one thing if _he_ were thinking it, but was quite another coming from anyone else, particularly the opposing team. It didn’t exactly engender him to whoever the guy was. And secondly and rather more obviously, it looked a _lot_ like his soulmate already had someone else. That happened sometimes, didn’t it? It vaguely rang a bell, at least. What were the odds. He’d actually got a soulmate, and even met them while he was still in school, and then it went and turned out that he was _still_ too late. The guy already didn’t need him. He was just a spare.  
  
Kei clenched his teeth so hard they creaked, blinking back tears. It wasn’t as though he’d wanted a soulmate _anyway_ , after all. Why was he getting so worked up over this? He didn’t even know who it was, and he _certainly_ hadn’t been thinking about any of them in that way during their matches. Really, he ought to be considering this a weight off his mind. All he had to do was not get involved. He wouldn’t ever have to come out. Didn’t have to worry about meeting new people any more, because It had already happened, and he wouldn’t even need to accommodate the guy into his life. There would be no forced intimacy. No awkward conversations. He could just pretend it had never happened.  
  
_Until someone sees the writing, at least,_ he thought, numbly. _What am I supposed to do now?_  
  
His mother called up to announce food, but Kei was too mortified to move. Too stunned even to pull his jacket back on and cover the marks. He just sat and stared until the words suddenly bled and ran, dissolving. Ah. So the guy was finally washing his arm, then.  
  
“Kei?” his mother said, knocking on the door. “Kei, are you feeling alright?”  
  
“No,” he murmured, not even caring that she probably couldn’t hear him properly through the door. “I…I think I might be sick.”

 

* * *

 

Fortunately or otherwise, his mother believed that he really was ill, which allowed him to hide in his room until he realised that much as his so-called soulmate might regularly write to whoever it was he was already happily partnered with, he did at least do so with considerable tact. The writing always stayed well above the wrist on his forearm, and during the day even confined itself to his shoulder and the very uppermost part of his arm, meaning that he ought to be safe wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Assuming he trusted the guy enough to stick to this restraint, and not get carried away like some of the idiots in his class did from time to time, or the way he presumably had on his trip back from Miyagi.  
  
Of course, he had no such faith in the guy when he first returned to school, but practice meant he had to take the chance. He’d missed too much already with the Interhigh preliminaries coming up, and he couldn’t afford to skip. Even if it meant the extra hassle of changing into his sports gear in the boys’ toilets, rather than the club room as everyone else did.  
  
Yamaguchi gave him an odd look, but said nothing. Fortunately, everyone else seemed too busy with training to especially notice that his routine had changed.  
  
The first week was beyond stressful. There was no physical sensation associated with words appearing—they just ghosted their way onto his skin, waiting to be spotted. But the pattern held. Whoever it was hardly seemed to write anything during school hours, and even late in the evening the words would only ever appear where clothing would likely conceal them. Gradually, Kei allowed himself to relax. From the half of the conversations he was able to see, it certainly _seemed_ like his soulmate was talking to another guy. Perhaps they’d had to learn discretion the hard way. He hoped not. Kei was well aware of the way most people perceived him, but that didn’t mean he actively went around wishing misfortune on people. And it wasn’t as though this guy had _asked_ for Kei to be given access to everything he wrote on himself.  
  
He tried not to look at the words on his arm if he could help it, though. It was as bad as spying, or snooping through someone else’s phone. After all, he’d already made the decision not to complicate his life further by poking his nose in, so really, he shouldn’t be wondering what the guy was like. Shouldn’t be trying to work out which of the Nekoma players the universe had apparently decided to dangle in front of him, taunting him with the possibility that he could have been _normal_ , and not part of the truly microscopic proportion of the world who had a “complicated” soulmate status.  
  
Gradually, though, he managed to adjust. It wasn’t all that different to how things had been before, really, except that he now had all the more reason not to undress in front of anyone else. And it wasn’t as though, between classwork and volleyball, he had all that much time or energy to worry, anyway. They were heading into the preliminaries fast, and it was a lot easier to push his curiosity away, burying it alongside everything else which he couldn’t face dealing with. After all, they’d actually have to get through the Miyagi playoffs if they were ever going to face Nekoma in a real match, and, realistically, what were the chances of that happening?  
  
Not that that made him feel any better when they lost to Seijoh. It was frustrating. Sure, they were a weaker team, and they’d all already seen the resources and talent pool Seijoh had to work with. In all honesty, being realistic, they’d probably done well to string the match out as long as they had. But they’d still lost. There was still the sting of failure. He still didn’t _like_ it.  
  
And then, naturally, things had to go from bad to worse.

 

* * *

 

The training camp was going to be a trial of endurance, no doubt about it. Oh, it might only have been scheduled for a night and two days, but the fact of the matter was that he’d actually have to change in front of people again, and if anyone from Nekoma saw the messages scrawled on his shoulder they might recognise the handwriting—or worse, his so-called soulmate might. In all honesty, if he was going to successfully pull off avoiding discovery, he was probably going to need help.  
  
Yamaguchi was not, normally, a difficult person to talk to. But then, he wasn’t usually trying to go against one of the unspoken rules of their friendship. It was impossible to stop himself overthinking everything as they walked home together. Was he stood too close, or too far away? Did he normally walk with his hands in his pockets? Didn’t he usually have his headphones around his neck? Would it look weird if he stopped to get them out of his bag now that they’d come so far down the road? Crap. He was panicking. And they were running out of time before they parted ways.  
  
“So…” he said, desperate to say _something_.  
  
“Tsukki?”  
  
“I…” He clamped his mouth shut, scowling off into the middle distance. Now what?  
  
“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?” Yamaguchi said, before wincing. “I mean, I think something has, right?”  
  
Kei stared at him. He swallowed, and nodded. “I…uh…” He gritted his teeth. “I’m…going to need your help with something. At the training camp.”  
  
“Me?” Yamaguchi said, eyes widening. “Why? What do you need _my_ help for?”  
  
It was stupid. There was no one around to overhear them. No one else on the team walked home in the same direction. Still, it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about on the street.  
  
“It’s…awkward,” he said. “I—”  
  
“Did you need me to come over?” Yamaguchi said, frowning. “I can call home and say I’m studying with you.”  
  
Kei sighed with relief. “Thanks,” he said. It wasn’t going to be a lot easier talking about it in his bedroom, but at least it had to be better than standing awkwardly in the middle of the road.  
  
It also gave him longer to think about it though, which was probably a bad idea. By the time they’d eaten—his mother insisted on it—and actually done the homework Yamaguchi claimed to be visiting to work on, he was all but ready to pass on the topic altogether. It wasn’t as though he really had a lot of friends to lose, after all. Could he afford to drive Yamaguchi away?  
  
Although, realistically, if that was going to happen over this, he had a choice between it happening now, in the privacy of his own room, or at training camp where everyone else could see. Put like that, it was better just to get it out into the open.  
  
“So apparently I met my soulmate,” he said, pointedly looking at his textbook as he said it. He could feel his face heating up as he spoke, which wasn’t a good sign. All he needed now was some sort of humiliating squeak in his voice. “And…um…he plays for Nekoma.”  
  
Oh god, why wasn’t Yamaguchi _saying_ anything? Was he just going to get up and walk out? He risked a look. Yamaguchi had his head ducked down, but there wasn’t any sign of revulsion on his face. That was good, right? Logically, if he was going to be disgusted by the thought, it would be an immediate thing. He relaxed a little.  
  
“Um…so what’s the problem?” Yamaguchi asked. “I mean…it doesn’t bother me that it’s a guy, Tsukki. You know there’s nothing wrong with that, right?” He smiled, despite looking a little worried.  
  
Kei sighed. “It’s not that,” he said, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. The relief that he still had a best friend was a little overwhelming. “I…I’ve known I was gay for years.”  
  
“O-oh,” Yamaguchi said. “Is it because he lives so far away, then?” There was a strained note in his voice, which Kei wasn’t all that surprised by. He _had_ just come out rather bluntly. Too bluntly? “What’s his name?”  
  
At that, Kei groaned, hunching forward over his book. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Huh? What do you mean? He didn’t _tell_ you? ”  
  
Kei blinked, and looked up at his friend. Yamaguchi looked as though he were personally offended by the thought.  
  
“I haven’t asked,” he said, noting the way that Yamaguchi’s anger gave way to honest confusion. “I haven’t written anything at all.”  
  
“But, Tsukki, you found your soulmate—”  
  
“He’s got someone else already,” Kei snapped. “I got back after the match and found his half of a conversation with another person all over my arm. He doesn’t need or want me.”  
  
“Oh,” Yamaguchi said. His face twisted with sympathy and, oddly, understanding. “I’m sorry, Tsukki.”  
  
Kei almost smiled. It was the first time in years that those words had actually sounded genuine. “It’s…that part’s okay, I guess,” he muttered. “I wasn’t ever fussed about having a soulmate anyway. But…It’s just going to mean too many questions if anyone sees this guy’s writing all over my arm at the training camp.”  
  
Yamaguchi nodded. “I haven’t seen anything on your arms since the match, though,” he pointed out. “If he hasn’t been writing then—”  
  
“He only writes where clothes cover up the words,” Kei said. “It shouldn’t be a problem during the day, but we’re staying overnight. I’ll have to shower at some point.”  
  
“Well, I’ll do my best to distract people and help cover for you, if you want,” Yamaguchi replied, although there was a definite uncertainty about his voice. “If that’s what you need.”  
  
Kei sighed. “Thank you. At least this is only for another couple of years at most. After High School, the chances of me running into him again should be too small to worry about.”  
  
Yamaguchi frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him about it?”  
  
Sighing, Kei rolled up his sleeve to reveal his arm.  
  
_~Yeah but we’ve got training camp soon. You can hold on a few more days you know.~_  
  
_~Haha, well, maybe you should try being patient for once.~_  
  
Even as they watched, the words were wiped mostly clean, leaving on a faint smudge. New words appeared over the top.  
  
_~Well, I’ll be sure to give you a hug and a kiss then, you dork. But I gotta get on with my homework now. You know, like you should be doing.~_  
  
“They’ve obviously known each other quite a long time,” Kei said, sighing again. He scowled as more words appeared: _~He’s got you there~_ , and pulled the sleeve back down. “I’m not going to make things awkward for him. I never really wanted this _anyway_.”  
  
Yamaguchi shot him an odd look, but said nothing more on the subject, for which he was eternally grateful.

 

* * *

 

If there was one blessing to the whole thing, it was that Hinata and Kageyama had both managed to fail one exam apiece, and wouldn’t be joining them unless they managed to scrape through a remedial class using their twin powers of freak chance and desperation. He could see it happening, of course—apparently some people really were just _that_ lucky—but it did mean they got to enjoy the drive down to Tokyo in peace.  
  
…At least, in as much peace as he was ever going to get while worrying about a reunion with his mystery soulmate. He couldn’t even particularly remember what any of the Nekoma players looked like, although admittedly, he’d done his very best to forget. The only name he could actually place was that of Kenma, the setter who Hinata had (probably forcibly) befriended, and he was the one person Kei knew it _couldn’t_ be.  
  
All in all, when they reached the school he was only too happy to hang back with Yamaguchi and let everyone else do the talking. They’d arrived early enough that no one questioned the fact he was still wearing his jacket, which gave him an opportunity to check and see if any Nekoma players were either doing the same, or had writing on their arms. He couldn’t hold back the faintest sigh of relief when he realised that all of their arms were bare.  
  
_At least whoever it is has some common sense,_ he thought.  
  
It was something of an uncharitable thought, perhaps, especially given how considerate the guy apparently was the rest of the time. Still, this was a world apart from Karasuno’s regular training—they were training with four powerhouse schools, not in a small gym with a team that couldn’t even field two full sides for practice. He was perfectly justified in being a little worried.  
  
Most sports required athletes to keep their skin clear for training and matches, with coaches explaining that it was, at best, an unfair distraction to everyone involved if words started popping up on arms or legs mid-game. At worst, it could be considered sabotage or cheating, and players who had unreliable soulmates were usually required to either wear adapted uniforms, or don a precautionary layer of concealer before the start of any match.  
  
In a way, Kei knew he ought to be glad that his soulmate played volleyball as well. The chances that he would ever have to do something like that were considerably smaller, given that they were both in the same boat. Still, that wasn’t going to help him if the guy decided to send a quick message to his pre-existing soulmate before the morning session started, or in between sets. Not all teams were equally strict about the matter, and he _had_ written all over his arm on the train before, where—presumably—his teammates had the potential to spot the writing.  
  
But as the day passed, and there was no sign of any of the Nekoma players reaching for a pen, he gradually allowed himself to relax. This was what came of overthinking things. All the Nekoma players who had visited Miyagi appeared just as excessively devoted to the sport as his own teammates. Given that, why was he ever expecting his soulmate to think about something else while they played their matches?  
  
_I wonder which one of them it is,_ he thought, trying his hardest not to look their way any more than necessary. _It had better not be mohawk guy or the libero._  
  
The freak duo managed to show up just in time for the final match of the day, which at least spared them from another lap of flying falls. Much as he was a _little_ bitter about the idiots showing up at the last minute and avoiding all the hard work everyone else had put in throughout the day, at least it spared them a little extra discomfort. It was just as well that bruises formed below the skin and therefore weren’t shared between soulmates, or he would have given himself away. Nekoma hadn’t lost half so many matches as they had, and he could already tell that his arms were going to be black and blue by the time they returned to Miyagi.  
  
In all honesty though, there was no escaping his relief as they packed away at the end of the day and sat down to eat. No one had said anything. No one had _seen_ anything, even.  
  
By the time he made his way to the showers before bed, he’d started to relax a little. Yamaguchi had offered to cover for him, just in case, and loitered outside with his phone. It almost seemed like a needless precaution, up until the moment Kei pulled his shirt off to reveal two lines written on his left shoulder in completely unfamiliar handwriting:  
  
_#Oi, Kuroo. You sneaking out this time?#_  
  
_It’s someone else writing on his arm for a joke,_ he told himself, although he couldn’t help but clench his teeth a little at the name. Kuroo. That…he was pretty sure that was the name of Nekoma’s _captain_.  
  
He showered as fast as he could, scrubbing at his shoulder as though it could get rid of the marks. Just as he reached for his shirt, more words spilled across his skin.  
  
_~Sorry about that. Coach wanted to talk to me. What time’s your lights out?~_  
  
Kei leant against the wall. Oh. _Oh_. Oh _no._ He snatched his shirt and pulled it over his head, covering the reply before he had a chance to see the words. And to think he’d considered this something of a nightmare _before_.  
  
He grabbed his things and wrenched the door open fast enough that Yamaguchi flinched.  
  
“Tsukki?”  
  
“It got worse,” he muttered, adding: “I don’t want to talk about it,” when Yamaguchi opened his mouth to speak. “Just…I’m going to need time to process this.”  
  
They stayed silent as everyone filed back into the room Karasuno had been allocated to sleep in. Despite—or perhaps _because_ of—the shock, Kei found it almost impossible to resist lifting his sleeve to see if the words were still there. Two soulmates. It must be the universe’s idea of a joke.  
  
He managed to contain his morbid curiosity until the lights were out and everyone appeared to be asleep. Sleep was, once again, one of the furthest things from his mind. And, if those messages were anything to go by, the same could be said of certain others at the training camp too. He frowned and grabbed his phone, pulling the sheet over his head and using the torch function to examine his shoulder again.  
  
The writing was gone, although a slight smudge showed where the words had been. Apparently they hadn’t bothered to properly wash them away. Still. There was always the chance he’d just imagined it. He’d been stressed out by the situation for the entire day, and it wasn’t as though he’d slept particularly well the night before, given their midnight start in Miyagi.  
  
_{We’re by the gym. Usual place. How long will you be?}_  
  
Kei inhaled sharply enough that he heard Yamaguchi stirring beside him and froze, closing his eyes tightly. That…that was not a _third_ kind of handwriting. It was just his eyes playing tricks on him. Never mind that it was neat and precise where Kuroo’s— _God, it’s even more awkward now I know who it is_ —was rushed and cramped, and the second person’s had been large and slightly scruffy. It was…maybe that was Kuroo. Maybe he was just taking a bit more time over it, or—  
  
_~Coming now. Lev took forever to go to sleep.~_  
  
Oh.  
  
Okay, so, it turned out that he had not one but _three_ soulmates, and apparently all of them were there at the training camp. Well that was just fucking _perfect_ then, wasn’t it.  
  
  



	2. And Though I Do Adore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, this chapter is going to be a little different to the rest of the fic. It's something I was originally going to have as a side-story, but really, a lot of the context in it is going to be more useful to have upfront than in sequel form. It's rather different in tone to the rest of the fic, however. I also want to put a content warning on this particular chapter, as it features discussion of grief, and mentions of the death of a minor character. (Who isn't a canon character, fear not!) 
> 
> If you don't want to read this (I'm probably overstating all the warnings, but it's not tonally in-keeping with the rest of the fic, so I'd rather play it safe than not), chapter three does pick up where chapter one left off. It's not essential to the understanding of the plot as a whole. I'll drop a quick summary of the main points into the end notes for the chapter. Also, this is the only Chapter of Unreasonable Angst, I promise! It'll be back to regular, sarcastic Tsukki afterwards.

Tadashi was born with multicoloured hands.

The midwife had screeched with delight and surprise, apparently: honoured beyond words that she were present for such a rare occurrence. His mother had cried, clutching him close in her arms. Not sure whether she were more happy to be able to hold him, or sad that someone else already had a claim on her baby. Because the bright colours which stained his fingers as he entered the world meant that somehow, he’d managed to meet his soulmate before he’d even been born.

Once or twice, Tadashi heard his father mention how tense and stressful those first few hours had been. That no one was really sure how to go about confirming the whole thing, seeing as it would be deeply wrong to write on a newborn infant. That when they’d found out his soulmate was the little girl who lived next door, his mother had refused to introduce them for an entire month, covering him in layers of blankets every time she took him out of the house. But by the time he was old enough to understand the significance of the pictures and words which appeared on his arms from time to time, his mother had long since come to terms with it all. He never knew things to be any other way.

Amaya was a little shy of two years older than him. She’d been finger-painting on the afternoon he’d been born, and although she was far too young to really understand what a soulmate was at that point, it was immediately apparent—even to Tadashi’s overprotective mother—that she adored the little baby she was apparently fated to be with. It was equally apparent, once Tadashi started walking and talking, that he was just as happy with his soulmate. As soon as he could walk, he took to following her wherever she went, cheerfully listening to whatever she said. They were the darling pair of the street, and it was rare not to see them with matching colours on their arms. As they grew a little older, the pictures morphed into cheerful messages which Tadashi would ask his mother to read aloud to him. The first words he learnt to read were the ones Amaya drew carefully on her arm for him each evening:

_ɞGoodnight Tadashi! Have sweet dreams!ɞ_

And months before he started school he had started to reply each night with a rather shaky:

_/Night Amaya!/_

 

* * *

 

The odds of meeting a soulmate in utero were eighty-seven million, nine hundred and twenty-seven thousand, four hundred and sixty-five to one. Tadashi had learnt the number by heart by the time he started school, proudly reciting it when he introduced himself to his classmates. Just as Amaya had when she’d started two years before. Everyone crowded around him, excited to hear about them, and to see the pictures which she sometimes drew for him at break.

He never tried to memorise the odds of _losing_ your soulmate before you were nine years old, but the few times he saw the number he noted that it was much, much longer. Combined, he was probably statistically unique…but by that point he didn’t want to be special any more. He just wanted things to go back to the sort of normal they never could. After a few months, it got bad enough that his parents moved to a whole other town just to escape the gossip and pity.

In time, all he had to remember Amaya by were photographs, a small scar on his knee—which they had shared ever since the time she’d cut it wide open running out of a ballet lesson—and the memory of words and pictures which no longer appeared on his arms.

When he started his new school, he didn’t mention soulmates at all. No one ever asked, which made it easier, in a way.

 

* * *

 

Tadashi hadn’t considered himself all that good at making friends any more until he got to know Tsukishima. In all honesty he’d been almost as scared as he was awed and envious of him at first: he was big, and brave, and so _cool_. No matter what happened he didn’t let things upset him, and no one ever dared pick on him either.

To begin with, Tadashi worried a little that Tsukishima thought he was only talking to him because it made the bullies leave him alone. But his new friend didn’t really seem to notice the boys who glared at them now and then, and never dared approach them. Eventually, Tadashi started to think that maybe Tsukishima had been a little bit lonely as well.

Tsukishima was _different_ to everyone else, that was the thing. Partly because of his appearance: he was taller, and blonder, and wore glasses with thick, bold frames. He looked much older than everyone else in their year, and acted so too. With Tsukishima around, eventually people started to treat _Tadashi_ differently. It was as though some of that responsibility had rubbed off on him—in the eyes of the teachers, at least. It was nice, too, to be “Tsukishima’s friend”, instead of “Tadashi, that boy whose soulmate died”.

Even better was the fact that Tsukishima didn’t talk about soulmates at all—not even when a new girl joined their year and turned out to be matched with someone in the class she joined. An obsession with the topic gripped the entire school for _weeks_ , and most of their classmates seemed to chatter and gossip about nothing else, but Tsukishima just blanked the subject entirely, as though it hadn’t happened at all. Tadashi was so relieved not to have to explain his own situation that he never even questioned why. It was just a topic they never spoke about.

Tadashi sometimes wondered why. Talking about them was normal, wasn’t it? But then, it wasn’t as though _he_ wanted the topic to come up either, because if it did he’d have to choose between lying to everyone, or talking about Amaya. And it wasn’t that he wanted to _forget_ her, but remembering hurt. And the expressions of pity he always got when other people found out hurt even more—and unlike his soulmate, they never seemed to leave.

 

* * *

 

Grief was unpredictable. Fickle.

It let him go for weeks or months at a time, returning to haunt him when he least expected it. Sometimes it crept up on him without his noticing, dragging him slowly downward until the weight was enough to make it impossible to hide from his mother, who always intervened with tissues and hugs. Sometimes it was a sudden thing, triggered by next to nothing: a funny joke on television which she’d never hear; a beautiful picture too much like the drawings he missed; rolling over in bed and spotting a new freckle on his arm, and forgetting—just for a half second—that years had gone by since marks had come from anyone but himself. Sometimes it simply took root in a corner of his mind: a quiet, almost gentle nagging, like constantly being aware that there was something important he needed to do and hadn’t.

But it was expected, at least, and over the years it had started to get easier to manage. And it made sense, too, in a way that his friendship with Tsukishima occasionally didn’t.

The thing was, no one else seemed to see Tsukishima the way he did. Just because he was tall, and didn’t smile a lot, and well, okay, he didn’t seem to be very good at making friends—but that was fine, because Tadashi wasn’t either, really. They got along mostly because…well, they just did. Tsukishima was brave, and cool, and always managed to think of something witty or funny to say, and even if sometimes those things were also a little mean, perhaps, it wasn’t as though he actually _picked_ on people. They were just jokes the two of them shared. And Tsukishima was clever, and he was good at volleyball, and he was tall, and good-looking, and…and…and somewhere along the line Tadashi started to realise that he was probably not supposed to think that last bit about his best friend, especially seeing as there was every reason to suppose that Tsukishima had a soulmate out there waiting for him.

It was all too easy to forget that, though, when soulmates were one of the few subjects Tsukishima never joked about—or even mentioned, for that matter. He never looked at anyone with lovesick eyes the way most of their classmates did, and when they started Junior High, he didn’t doodle on his arms _once_. When other people started talking about it, Tsukishima would always glaze over and stop paying attention.

In all honesty, it made things both easier _and_ harder. Easier, because with Tsukishima, he could pretend for long stretches of time that soulmates didn’t exist, or that, cruel as it probably was to hope for, Tsukishima would never actually _meet_ his, and they could just…just…what, exactly? The question was always what brought him sharply to the other side of the problem. Being friends with Tsukishima was hard precisely because they were so close. Too close. _He_ was too close, at least. Too clingy, and really, too smitten. It was, at best, pathetic to want his best friend to be alone forever just so that they could always keep each other company. At worst, it was downright mean. He should want him to be happy.

Then again, as their years in Junior High rolled past, it certainly didn’t seem that Tsukishima was _un_ happy. He might not have been as full of smiles as most people…well, okay. Tadashi wasn’t stupid. It was no secret that Tsukishima had a poker face to rival the best of them, and when he _did_ smile, it was usually at someone else’s expense. But just because emotions didn’t play out on his best friend’s face the way they did with most other people, that didn’t mean he never had any.

It was something which became more obvious when they started Karasuno. Tadashi had followed him there without question, not even remarking when Tsukishima had wound his way among the crowds of bellowing third years to pick up an application for the volleyball club. It wasn’t _his_ place to talk about that, after all.

Nor was it Tadashi’s place to comment on the intense dislike Tsukishima seemed to have for Hinata and Kageyama, even though he could tell that there was a lot more going on than an irritation at how…well, kinda stupid they both were, or how Hinata could simultaneously be one of the worst and best players on the team, while Kageyama was a prodigy who didn’t really grasp the concept of teamwork, in a game that relied entirely on just that.

And it would have been easy to rationalise the odd feeling in his gut when Tsukishima was given a starting position on the team and he wasn’t. He was the only one left out, after all. The only first year still on the bench. But he was past denial, really he was, and even if he hadn’t been, his hormones had made certain facts about himself abundantly clear.

Having a crush had seemed disloyal at first. Wrong, somehow, even though he’d been told—by both his parents _and_ the very expensive therapist they’d sent him to a couple of years ago—that there was absolutely nothing stopping him from having a rich, fulfilling life, complete with all the love and affection actual soulmates had for each other. That he should actively seek it out, in fact, and shouldn’t let what had happened dictate his future.

He’d stuck with trying to deny it for quite a while really. Partly because, well…Tsukishima was a _guy_ , and he, Tadashi, was straight…wasn’t he? He’d had a female soulmate, anyway, and cruel as fate might have been about his situation, that didn’t mean he’d been given the wrong one. Sure, he’d never thought about Amaya like that, but that was because he’d only ever known her as a _child_. As someone he’d just somehow…always be with, in that vague, shapeless way children saw the world. And he’d had crushes on other girls in Junior High, too. Even if they _had_ left him feeling oddly hollow at times. Those girls had always talked about how they couldn’t wait to meet their soulmates, or how they wrote on their hands each night: “Just in case!”

It wasn’t that he expected teenage crushes to actually _go_ anywhere. But it stung to have the futility of them thrown in his face quite that much.

So if there was anything positive to be said about his somewhat shameful feelings for Tsukishima (who in their right mind fell for their _best friend_ ; it was the most awkward situation imaginable), it was that at least he could endure them in peace.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t like Tsukishima to get sick. Which wasn’t to say it was _impossible_ , of course, or suspicious—no, nothing like that at all. It was just…in the whole time they’d known each other, Tadashi had never known his friend get so ill that he had to miss more than a day of school. Especially seeing as, when he’d called, the reply he’d gotten had just stated: “I feel ill”, without elaborating as to _how_. And he’d seemed perfectly fine during their practice matches against Nekoma.

What made it even _more_  strange was that, when he returned to school, apparently his mystery illness had made it so that he felt the cold a lot more, because even though it was summer he had switched to long-sleeved shirts. Stranger still, he’d either taken to wearing his practice gear _under_ his uniform, or he actually was changing in the toilets.

He could have asked about it. Maybe he _should_ have asked about it? Wasn’t that what good friends were meant to do? But then again, what if Tsukishima didn’t want to talk about it? What if it had to do with being ill and he was trying to get back to normal? Tadashi knew all too well how awkward it was when people brought up sensitive subjects. And they’d been friends for years, so if something really was the matter then Tsukishima would have said something. Wouldn’t he?

 _He would_ , Tadashi told himself, every time the doubts surfaced. _He’d tell me if something was wrong._

Except Tsukishima _didn’t_ say anything. He didn’t seem to care all that much when Tadashi started going off by himself for extra training—although admittedly Tadashi had very much downplayed what he was doing, especially at first. He hardly reacted when they lost to Seijoh, either. And while, again, Tadashi knew him well enough by that point to see the frustration hidden in his would-be resigned expression…something was off. He was _sure_ something was off.

But it was always hard to be certain. And it wasn’t as though he’d never made mistakes before, and maybe the worrying was just another development in the _definitely hormonal_ feelings for his best friend. Worrying was something he tended to do quite a lot, after all. And okay, _something_ seemed to be bothering Tsukishima, especially after the announcement that they would be going to train in Tokyo with Nekoma and some other teams, but that…that was volleyball stuff, right? Possibly?

The more he thought about it, the less sure Tadashi got. And it was equal parts frustrating and sort of embarrassing, because, really, weren’t there more…well, _normal_ things for him to be obsessing over than the fact his best friend slash crush might or might not have something on his mind? In the grand scheme of things it was pretty pathetic.

But just because he _knew_ it was pathetic, that didn’t stop him thinking about the odd, shifty way that Tsukishima had taken to always standing with his arms folded, and snatching for his jacket the moment practice finished. Every day that they walked home together—and, okay, that wasn’t _every_ day any more, since he’d been getting extra volleyball lessons from Shimada—he’d agonised with himself over whether or not to ask.

It was something of a shock when Tsukishima himself started that conversation. And even more of a surprise when he seemed lost for words as he asked for help with something. Tsukishima _always_ knew what to say. Still, perhaps it was just because they were stood out in the street? If it was something medical, he might not want anyone overhearing.

Tadashi mulled over what the problem might be all the way to Tsukishima’s house, unable to settle on anything. His confusion only deepened when they arrived, and the evening settled into what seemed like just another study session. It was as though their earlier conversation hadn’t happened at all. He began to wonder if he’d somehow imagined it. By the time they started on their mathematics homework, he was more or less convinced he _had_.

“So apparently I met my soulmate,” Tsukishima said, completely out of the blue.

Tadashi’s stomach lurched, as though someone had reached inside him and twisted everything into a knot. He gritted his teeth and swallowed past a sudden rush of nausea. It was all he could do not to drop his pen.

But Tsukishima wasn’t finished: “And…um…he plays for Nekoma.”

The knot redoubled. But, at least that explained why he’d been acting so strangely. It was no wonder that he’d been feeling awkward about it if his… _obviously_ inevitable soulmate played for a rival—wait. Wait. That probably wasn’t what he’d been worried about the whole time, was it. _Say something!_ he told himself furiously. _He’s probably worried you’re going to act like those idiots at Junior High!_

He forced a smile onto his face as he looked up. “Um…so what’s the problem?” he asked, hoping the slight wobble in his voice wasn’t noticeable. He had to be the good friend now, right? It wasn’t anyone’s fault that Tsukishima had a soulmate and he didn’t. “I mean…it doesn’t bother me that it’s a guy, Tsukki. You know there’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

Tsukishima sighed, although the relief was pretty evident on his face. “It’s not that,” he said. “I…I’ve known I was gay for years.”

“O-oh,” Tadashi said, trying to wrestle the multitude of emotions which had started warring for control of his mind. How could he be simultaneously disappointed, bitterly jealous, confused,  _and_ relieved? “Is it because he lives so far away, then?” he asked, trying to push down a sudden bout of grief. It wasn’t just the memory of his existing loss. It was the way he was going to lose his best friend, too. On some level at least. “What’s his name?”

To his surprise, Tsukishima groaned rather than answer him, hunching forward so far that when he talked, the words came out slightly muffled: “I don’t know.”

It was almost funny, really, the way every emotion but anger drained away in an instant. “Huh? What do you mean? He didn’t _tell_ you?” he cried, hardly able to believe his ears. Who in their right mind wouldn’t have replied back? Had this guy not _looked_ at Tsukishima properly?

Tsukishima looked up at him. “I haven’t asked,” he said calmly. “I haven’t written anything at all.”

 _What_.

Tadashi frowned. That didn’t make any sense. Surely that had to be a mistake. “But, Tsukki, you found your soulmate—”

“He’s got someone else already,” Tsukishima said curtly. “I got back after the match and found his half of a conversation with another person all over my arm. He doesn’t need or want me.”

“Oh.”

Tadashi clamped his mouth shut until he could get his thoughts in order. His therapist had mentioned multiple soulmate connections, hadn’t he? They’d told him that it _did_ happen sometimes; that there was a chance, even if he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He hadn’t ever expected to be that lucky though, which was probably just as well. Now it had happened to his best friend—or the soulmate of his best friend, at least—and _still_ managed to cause more pain than anything else.

“I’m sorry, Tsukki,” he said. After all, it wasn’t the same as his own situation, but it was similar in way, wasn’t it? Finding out your soulmate was already taken would have hurt. Would still hurt.

“It’s…that part’s okay, I guess,” Tsukishima muttered. “I wasn’t ever fussed about having a soulmate anyway. But…It’s just going to mean too many questions if anyone sees this guy’s writing all over my arm at the training camp.”

That…that didn’t make sense. Tsukishima didn’t _want_ a soulmate? That couldn’t be right. No, he was probably just trying to make the best of it and cover his disappointment. And if he didn’t want to make a fuss, then who was Tadashi to start arguing the point? He dutifully agreed with Tsukishima’s plan to cover everything up at the training camp, promising himself he was doing it as a friend, and not because a part of him wanted to keep on pretending his best friend wasn’t going to leave him some day.

Because, as he mused on his lonely walk home later that evening, that was the thing. Soulmates weren’t _wrong_. Fate was cruel sometimes, and snatched them away. Or it just never gave some the chance to meet each other in the first place. But he’d never heard of someone meeting their soulmate and deciding that they didn’t match. Perhaps the logistics didn’t work out, or perhaps one person was already in a committed relationship and stayed with that person out of loyalty, but to actually entirely _reject_ a soulmate? Tadashi couldn’t fathom wanting that. It simply didn’t make _sense_.

Which meant that, sooner or later, Tsukishima’s mystery soulmate was going to work out what had happened, and then they’d start talking, and that would be that. It was no good denying it. No good pretending it was anything other than sheer selfishness that had him going along with the plan to conceal it. A petty desire to keep his best friend from moving on and leaving him behind, even though he’d _seen_ them. Seen the sentences writing themselves across Tsukishima’s arm, proclaiming him the perfect fit…for someone else.

Tadashi went straight to his room when he got home, where he finally gave in to the tears he’d been holding off ever since the topic came up. He’d have given _anything_ to have words on his skin again. Surely it wouldn’t be long before Tsukishima realised what a gift they were too?

 

* * *

 

If he hadn’t known Tsukishima so well, Tadashi would have thought there was nothing wrong at all during the first day of the training camp. His face looked practically the same as it always did. If he was looking at Nekoma’s players a little more closely during their sets against them (and Tadashi knew he had to be), it didn’t show as anything more than attentiveness to the game.

It wasn’t Tadashi’s place to wonder who it was, really it wasn’t, but if he were honest with himself he couldn’t quite help it. After all, at _some_ point Tsukishima was going to have to talk about this with the player in question, and presumably they’d come to some sort of arrangement.

It was the same sort of nagging, slightly morbid curiosity which had led him to research the statistics on losing a soulmate, those years ago. Much as it stung—and it _really_ stung—to know he was going to lose his best friend on some level, the sooner it happened, the sooner he could start to move on, and attempt to lay his feelings to rest once and for all.

The only problem was that it was almost impossible to guess. Because, if Hinata and Kageyama could be soulmates (and despite them both all but openly denying it, it seemed pretty obvious to Tadashi that they were), that just went to show that people didn’t have to have similar personalities to be a match. Aside from perhaps one or two of the players—who really didn’t seem compatible with Tsukishima at _all_ —it could have been any of them. It wasn’t as though he had any idea which of them were Tsukishima’s type.

In all honesty, part of him wasn’t entirely sure Tsukishima even _had_ a type. Even thinking about it felt a little weird.

Almost as weird as it felt to be stood outside the showers, waiting to send a message if it looked like anyone was approaching. They’d both held off until everyone else had headed back, after all. No one else was around.

He bit back a yawn. Well, at least no one had seen him standing around outside the shower block and asked what he was doing. That was something to be—

The door slammed open, making him flinch.

“Tsukki?” he spluttered, clutching at his chest. His best friend looked even paler than usual. It was like he’d seen a ghost.

“It got worse,” Tsukishima muttered.

Tadashi was about to ask _how_ , but Tsukishima cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just…I’m going to need time to process this.”

He stalked off to the room the team was sleeping in, pulling his sleeve further down over his left arm.

Tadashi trailed behind morosely. He’d managed to avoid soulmate drama for _so long_.

 _I hope this blows over soon,_ he thought, clambering onto his futon and pulling the sheet tightly around his shoulders. _It already hurts enough that he’s got someone else, without all this fuss at the start._

He rubbed at his forearm, idly tracing words with his finger. It was a habit he’d mostly put behind him, but now and then the urge was just too great:

_/Night Amaya/_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Summary in Brief:**  
>  -Yamaguchi was born with a soulmate who was a couple of years older than him, but she died when he was about seven or eight years old. This is the chief reason he doesn't like talking about soulmates - it's a very painful subject for him. To make matters worse, he's had a crush on Tsukki for years. He also knows it's pointless, because pretty much everyone but him has a fairly good chance of meeting their soulmate someday. 
> 
>  
> 
> Incidentally, the chapter title was taken from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTCHi0R-Pqg), by OWEL. I've had TsukiYama feels while listening to it for a while now. That...probably explains a lot, to be honest.
> 
> So, sorry about this update to everyone hoping for fluff. It will come, I promise!


End file.
